


A Little Bit of Good

by icandrawamoth



Series: 31-Day Horoscope Challenge [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: (because is it not canon?), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Jedha, Minor Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Post-Rogue One, Post-Star Wars: A New Hope, Refugees, volunteering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9249038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Bodhi is having a hard time dealing with his grief and guilt over the Holy City's destruction. Chirrut has a suggestion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: January 4th: _You might find that you feel a bit more reserved than usual and that you want to hold tight to your material possessions for comfort. Keep in mind that other people are extremely important to you now and you would benefit greatly by offering your hand to those who are less fortunate._
> 
> Title from this quote: "Do your little bit of good wherever you are; it is those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world."

If there's one thing Bodhi misses about working for the Empire, it's the lulls, the long, boring stretches he used to hate so much. Ever since he joined the Rebellion, he feels like he's barely had time for a breath. First it was Eadu, then Scarif, the fight against the Death Star, and now a mad rush to find a new base and relocate before the Empire can strike Base One again.

There is one good thing about the constant action and the fact that most nights mean dropping into bed and an instant dreamless sleep before getting up to do it all again: he has very little time to think. Very few opportunities for the expanding dust cloud of Jedha's Holy City, his home, to rise in his mind and remind him that it happened because he was there.

He goes quiet after Scarif, fading into the shadows of the flurry. He doesn't have much of a skill-set that makes him useful in these particular issues, though he is quick to do the simple things asked of him. No one seems to notice that he doesn't talk much otherwise, doesn't volunteer anything. Perhaps he's always been that way.

When they stop assigning him tasks, he starts spending more time alone in his quarters, merely staring at the walls or imaging what he would be doing right now if he were still with the Empire. Part of him knows it would be a better idea to try and keep himself busy, that there's somewhere on the base he could be useful, even if it's just another pair of hands helping to move equipment, but he doesn't, remaining consumed in his thoughts.

One day he's laying on his bunk, the Holy City's debris cloud fresh in his mind, fingers worrying a shard of stone he always keeps in his pocket, when someone bangs at the door. Startled, he bolts upright, the rock slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. “C-come in!” he calls as he dives after it.

The door slides open to reveal Chirrut and Baze, the latter with his eyebrow lifted when he spots Bodhi scrabbling around on the floor. Bodhi grabs the rock and jumps to his feet, turning it over and over in his hands nervously. “Yes?”

“We haven't seen you in a while,” Baze says, looking around Bodhi's quarters as if their appearance will answer some unspoken question. “Chirrut was worried.”

“We're _all_ worried,” Chirrut corrects him mildly. With the uncanny accuracy he has, he crosses the room, takes Bodhi's arm and guides him to the bed, sitting next to him. “Are you well, Bodhi?”

Under Baze's questioning gaze and Chirrut's intensely perceptive presence, Bodhi can't lie. “Not exactly,” he admits, looking down at his hands, the stone still tumbling back and forth between them.

“What do you have there?” Chirrut asks.

Bodhi halts his movement and holds it up so Baze can see before passing it to Chirrut. “Just a rock. It's from Jedha.” His voice shakes a little on the word, as much as he tries to steady it. “It was my mother's idea when I left for the academy: that I would always have a little piece of home with me when I was out there flying around the galaxy.” A distressed sound slips from his throat. “Now it's all I have.”

Chirrut makes a soft, considering noise as he runs his fingers over the stone, and Baze clears his throat.

Bodhi's cheeks go red as he suddenly realizes what he's done. “I'm sorry,” he blathers. “I mean, I know I'm not the only one who's grieving. You two lived there, too...” He clamps his mouth shut, not wanting to make it worst. And he hasn't even mentioned Alderaan...

Baze's smile is surprisingly gentle. “We're all in the same boat, little brother. Grieving and being diplomatic don't exactly go hand in hand.” He finally crosses the room, taking a seat on Bodhi's other side, a large, warm hand landing on the younger man's shoulder.

“Loss and grief are parts of life,” Chirrut says. “But we must be careful not to let them consume us.” He turns to Bodhi, his milky gaze intense. “We mustn't bottle it up.”

Bodhi looks down again, fingers clenched on his pant-legs. He doesn't know what to say. “How are you so calm?” he settles on, praying it doesn't come out like an accusation. “I'm mean, you're lucky you're not totally messed up like me, but _how_?”

“You're not 'messed up',” Baze is quick to correct him, squeezing his arm. Bodhi watches his gaze go to Chirrut, suddenly fond – and grateful. “I suppose it's different for us. We have each other, at least.”

Chirrut's hand snakes behind Bodhi's back to land atop Baze's. “We grieve our fellow Guardians, of course, and the others we knew in the City, the great loss of life in and of itself, but we were not close to them. The Guardians were an organization, yes, but we only worked closely in small groups. Baze and I would only occasional meet with others. And we must face that fact that our real home has been gone for a long time, and we now have a new one here.”

“Lucky,” Bodhi murmurs again, trying to keep from crying at what he's about to say next. “My whole family was there. My parents. My sister.” His voice shakes, right on the edge. “Friends from when I was a kid. Everyone I knew outside the Empire.”

“It may seem cold comfort, but you must trust the will of the Force,” Chirrut murmurs. “This is a tragedy, and it has affected you deeply and will continue to do so, but you are strong, Bodhi Rook, and you will survive. The Force is not done with you yet.”

Bodhi sighs. It _is_ cold comfort, but he's glad _someone_ is convinced he's going to be okay.

“Do you know what I think might help?” Chirrut muses.

Bodhi swallows hard, dashing lingering tears from his eyes. “What?”

Chirrut stands, Baze shadowing him. “If you can't make yourself feel better – and I don't expect you to be able to, not yet – you might try helping others.”

Bodhi snorts halfheartedly. “They don't seen to have much use for me here. You two and Cassian and Jyn and K-2 have all been assigned other missions, and I'm just sitting here. I'm starting to think the Rebel leaders don't trust me.”

“That's not true, and it's also not what I meant,” Chirrut explains. “Return to Jedha.”

Bodhi's mouth drops open. “You can't be serious.”

“He's serious,” Baze affirms.

Chirrut nods. “There are bound to be other survivors, Bodhi, not from the city itself, of course, but from the surrounding area, or those who were off-planet when the attack occurred. Surely you can find ways to help them and ease your guilt.”

Bodhi gapes. He hadn't said anything about that.

“It's an easy enough thing to figure out,” Baze explains nonchalantly. “The Empire was there because you and your message were. Anyone would feel guilty.”

“Thanks...” Bodhi mutters. Phrasing it that way certainly doesn't help.

Chirrut notices his reaction and cuffs Baze lightly on the arm. “He means well,” the former Guardian says. “And I mean what I said. The rest of us are all going off-world with different teams. Take Rogue One's U-wing back to Jedha and see what you find.”

“Do you really think they'd clear me for that?” Bodhi asks, the idea starting to take root. “It's not exactly Rebellion business.”

“Helping those who have been hurt by the Empire is part of what the Rebellion is for,” Chirrut tells him. “I think they will understand.” He holds out the Jedhan stone he's still holding, and Bodhi takes it, curling his fingers around it tightly.

“Thank you,” the younger man murmurs. “I'll try that. I'll leave as soon as I can.”

* * *

Less than two days later, Bodhi is nearly ready to come out of hyperspace near Jedha. Rebel brass had indeed okayed the trip and, even better, had showed they did in fact trust him by agreeing to let him come alone. As the elongated lines of hyperspace snap back into the bright points of distant stars and planets, he braces himself for what he knows he's about to see.

The brownish orb of Jedha lies ahead, the massive scar from the Death Star's super-laser clearly visible even from space. Bodhi swallows his nausea thinking of everyone who died there, tells himself at least they didn't suffer.

The damage is truly, horrifically awe-inspiring. The mesa which used to be crowned with the Holy City is nowhere to be seen. Instead, the entire area, the destruction stretching for kilometers and kilometers in every direction, is a uniform burned pit. As he brings his ship into the atmosphere, the nausea in his gut worsens. There are no discernible structures left, either man-made or natural. Sedimentary rock usually far underground is mixed in with debris from the surface, and sprinkled here and there are exposed crystal deposits, possibly kyber. It is apocalyptic.

Bodhi tries to control his breathing as he brings the U-wing in for a circle around the edge of the scarred land. He has an idea of where he might find a gathering of refugees, if there is one, but he's loathe to miss anything.

There is no sign of what he searches for, though, until he ends the circuit at the expected place, and there it is: a refugee camp built in the sheltered shadow of the nearest standing mesa, tents and ground transports and people all huddled together as if they can't bear to be alone. Nearby, in the opposite direction of the former city, is a makeshift landing field. Bodhi sets the U-wing down there after making contact with the person running things and explaining that he has come to help however he can.

He's greeted as he steps out of the ship by a redheaded human woman who introduces herself as Kinn Truden before immediately launching into, “I don't know why you would come here if you knew what happened. After that mining disaster, it's not like there's anything left. All these people just don't know what to do with themselves now. None of us do.”

Bodhi grits his teeth as she continues to ramble on, leading him toward the settlement. Of course none of them know what really happened. He wonders if he should tell them, but the thought is interrupted as they reach a weak, makeshift gate leading into the camp.

Kinn opens it and turns to him, new earnestness in her face. “We appreciate it, though. Really. As long as there are people here, there are things we need. It's only been a few days, and they keep coming in. Lots of them don't even have places to sleep. We've got people a dozen or more to a tent, or trying to share sleeping quarters in the ships. It's a mess, and the Empire isn't sending any help.”

 _They wouldn't_ , Bodhi thinks bitterly as he looks around. The refugee camp is one of the saddest things he's ever seen. People of all species mill about or huddle around guttering campfires, seeming lost in a daze. Even the children sit quietly, staring at what used to be their home. His heart thunders as he tries to beat back the possibility that he will spot someone he knows. None of the faces are familiar.

He turns back to Kinn. “What can I do?”

The woman chews on her lip for a moment, looking around appraisingly. Then she leads him on, to a far corner of the camp where a handful of beings are banging away at a pile of rough materials, wood and stone and metal sheets, apparently trying to construct a shelter.

“How are you at building things?” Kinn asks.

“I've never tried,” Bodhi says honestly. “But I'll help where I'm needed.”

Kinn nods, evidently pleased by the answer. “Turo,” she calls to a Tognath attempting to fit two oddly-shaped pieces of wood together. “I've got a volunteer for you. Newbie builder.”

Turo looks up and gestures to a nearby tool chest. “Get a hammer; I'll show you what to do. We don't need anything fancy.”

Bodhi trots over, grateful to help. If all he can contribute is a few nails in even one rough-hewn shelter for a Holy City refugee to lay their head in at night, that's at least a tiny way he can give back, one more microscopic piece of guilt he can let go.


End file.
